


Of the Genus Hedera

by Fire_Sign



Series: Snips and Snails and Squirrelly Tales [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So awhile back I had a bit of a strop because I wanted to write something that WASN'T one of the fifty projects I currently had going. GaslightGallows kindly (or "kindly", I'm still not entirely certain) provided me with a prompt and I gleefully thought I was setting myself up some very short, fun fluff. 
> 
>    
> Yeah... not so much. It is a slightly messy, unplotted thing that may or may not stand on its own. (Characters and events are backstory to anther, longer fic that might be written. Eventually. Once I get over the "Everything is awful and why did I take this on?" stage) But here it is anyway. "You definitely have a type."

Wangaratta, Phryne decided, was boring. When a town’s greatest claim to fame was being the only fuelling stop on Amy Johnson’s Canberra to Melbourne flight, there was a contradictory sense that the place would be both supremely boring and supremely fascinating. Wangaratta appeared to think that even superlatives were too much excitement.

She had, in her ennui, resorted to composing letters to Jack in her bed every night. She chose not to commit said letters to paper—she’d probably scandalise the poor man—but she did send a telegraph on the third day.

>  WANGA AS DULL AS AUNT P PARTY -(STOP)- MISS YOU  XXX

She telephoned as well, of course, but lousy connections and the potential of operators listening in kept both of them from saying what they truly wanted to say. _I love you. I miss you. I long for your tongue and your hands and the way you sigh when you come._

The son of her client was roguishly charming, with positively _divine_ red hair and broad shoulders, and probably would have been worth more than a flirtation once upon a time. But as much as she could admire him, she found no desire for it to cross the threshold of the boudoir. She had Jack now, and while it _was_ an option, she generally found that the idea of taking another man to bed just made her miss him terribly. And if he _was_ around, he seemed so much more desirable than the other options. She would have found it vexing, but she had always delighted in subverting expectations; she just hadn’t expected that to encompass her own.

So she composed letters and imagined the way his Adam’s apple would bob when she took him in her mouth and pretended her hands were large and calloused and infinitely tender. And as the languid after effects of her release allowed her to drift off to sleep, she renewed her vow to solve this case quickly and return home to his waiting arms.

———

Melbourne without Phryne Fisher in it was—well, it was the same sun in the sky and the same crimes on the streets, but it lacked that vibrancy he had grown accustomed to. Not that he would ever admit to such a sentiment within her earshot; he’d never live it down if he did. He would show her instead, once she was home, and reflecting on the many options to do so got him through most of a day’s paperwork without succumbing to the urge of seeking out any active criminal investigation in a three-mile radius.

He’d received a telegram several days earlier, declaring Wangaratta to be as boring as one of Prudence Stanley’s parties. Whether that meant very dull indeed (because they were) or thrilling (because they’d turned said parties into an excuse to create their own diversions) had been unclear. When he had telephoned her that night he had asked, veiling it with the pretext of a new invitation arriving at Wardlow addressed to them both.

“I’m only going if you are,” she had purred, and for just a moment he had needed to close his eyes against the sheer immensity of how much he missed her.

“Of course.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

“Not soon enough, Miss Fisher,” he said hoarsely.

“I know, darling. I know.”

Still, the latest update had her case nearly resolved—they had established early on that they would take their own cases, enjoying when it gave them a chance to work together but not seeking it out—and her return to Melbourne planned for the following day.

There was a knock at the door, and Collins stuck his head through a moment later.

“There’s a lady here asking for an Inspector Robinson, sir,” he said.

“Did she say what it was regarding?”

“No, sir, just that she needed to speak to you in particular.”

Jack glanced at his teacup; finding it empty, he decided that now was as good a time as any to refill it. He signed the bottom of his most recent page, capped the pen, and moved towards the door. Stepping through, half his attention on deciding whether his cup needed a wash before his next drink of if a quick rinse would suffice, he remembered the visitor and looked up to the waiting woman.

And found himself staring into a face he never expected to see again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, posting this tonight instead of in the morning because I feel expectations might have been falsely raised.

Driving past City South, Phryne saw Jack standing outside talking closely with a young woman. Handsome rather than pretty, young, with dark hair and frankly _excellent_ cheekbones. Quite a regal bearing on her, Phryne noted, watching as she moved to embrace Jack. Not a witness either; Jack’s returning hug, stiff as it was, was too familiar for that. Peculiar.

Phryne had planned to pull up to the station and honk the horn repeatedly to announce her presence, but there was so much more fun in doing it this way. She parked around the corner, smoothing the few strands of hair that had not survived the high speeds, then climbed out of the Hispano. Jack wasn’t expecting her back until tomorrow, but she’d wrapped things up earlier than anticipated and saw no reason to stay. So she’d said her goodbyes and managed an impressive top speed that she would neglect to mention to her dear inspector; as delightful as his exasperation could be, she was craving something a little more...affectionate. This unexpected woman would make it easy to draw it from him.

Jack and the woman were both gone by the time she was back by the station doors. It must have been a farewell of some sort; Jack had another hour before his shift was over and he’d not been dressed to leave the station, so Phryne figured he would be inside. She trotted up the stairs, swung open the station doors, waved to a rather shocked Hugh—that should have been her first warning, in hindsight—and waltzed over to Jack’s door. She paused for half a second to don a disapproving mask; no point giving the game away too early.

“Honestly, Jack,” she said, stepping into his office. She immediately turned away to hang up her hat and coat on the tree by the door. “I was only gone a week! If I can survive that long, you would think you could! I will say this though: you definitely have a t—”

He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands and his decanter of whiskey in front of him. The glass was empty. She double-checked the time on the mantelpiece clock; no, still an hour left in his shift. He wouldn’t actually be drinking, but something had rattled him enough he was contemplating it.

“Jack?”

He looked up, and his eyes were red. She was beside him in an instant, fingers lacing through his hair.

“What’s happened, darling?” she asked, all teasing gone from her voice.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed his face against her stomach; a deep breath shuddered through his body.

“Phryne…”

His voice was rough, and it scared her. Jack was remarkably open with his emotions, but not like this. She pulled away, just enough to meet his eyes; in the late afternoon light coming through the window they almost seemed to glow. The intensity left her breathless.

After a moment she pressed a kiss to his forehead, lightly enough not to leave a lip print behind.

“Get your hat,” she ordered quietly.

“My shift—”

“—can be finished at home. Hugh knows how to reach you.”

He numbly returned the alcohol to its place as she shuffled the piles of folders on his desk into a drawer, locking it neatly and popping the key into her trouser pocket. His actions were slow as he donned his hat and coat. Phryne reached out to adjust the collar of the latter instinctively, and he looked at her with reproachful amusement. Good.

“The inspector’s gotten a sudden headache,” she said as they left his office. Hugh nodded in understanding, but the other constable at the desk snorted.

“Something amusing you, Simon?” Phryne asked.

“Absolutely not, Miss Fisher,” he said in a tone that perfectly conveyed everything he wasn’t saying. _Boss is off with his fancy piece, and leaving us to do the work._

Beside her, she could sense Jack’s hand clench and unclench, but he didn’t say anything. They had decided, in the very early days of their relationship, that they would not defend themselves against people who were so wholly convinced they were taking liberties. Their work record spoke for itself, and they were careful not to blur the lines when working a case together. However, there were times an exception could be made.

“That’s interesting, Simon,” she said with a smile so bright that Hugh shifted uncomfortably out of its path. “Here I was thinking you were accusing your inspector of slacking off. Funny, that. Must have been imagining things.”

“Must have, miss,” he replied, but he looked slightly chagrined nonetheless.

“Well, now that that is cleared up, I’d best be driving him home before it gets worse. Ready, Jack?”

Jack nodded, and Phryne took the crook of his arm as she led him out the door.

———

Phryne turning up at the station was unexpected, but not particularly shocking. She was vexingly good at turning up at just the right moment to either make his life easier or harder; he wasn’t certain which was the case this time. The ride back to Wardlow was mostly quiet; he made a few inquiries about her case’s resolution, but couldn’t focus on her answers. She had given an understanding pat on his knee at one of the corners where she slowed down—she was incapable of stopping completely, it seemed—and told him they could talk about it later. He found himself pushing against the back of his seat, the pressure grounding him while his mind raced.

Pulling up outside the house, Jack could see Mr. Butler by the gate, waiting to retrieve Phryne’s bags. She motioned the man to stay where he was and waited for Jack to speak.

“It was Ivy,” he said, feeling his voice crack. “She looks… She looks so much like Dan, Phryne.”

“Come inside, darling,” she said gently.

She climbed out of the car, spoke quietly with Mr. Butler for a moment, then waited for Jack to come around and offer his arm. It was the sort of concession she would make from time to time, an understanding that he was not quite modern enough to be the one escorted by her. It reminded him too much of convalescent hospitals.

“Mr. Butler was just about to put dinner in; it’s his evening off. Are you hungry, or should I have him put it in the coolbox for later?”

Jack shook his head, knowing full well that it was not Mr. Butler’s usual evening off. He also had no doubt the two would insist the change was already arranged, despite the fact that the man hadn’t said a word as Jack had left for work that morning. Somehow, Jack sleeping at Wardlow when Phryne wasn’t there was one of those things that simply _happened_ , but he found he didn’t mind.

“Later, please, Mr. Butler,” she called, before heading indoors.

Once inside she removed his hat, using it as an excuse to brush a kiss against his cheek, then helped him out of his coat. It was the sort of concession he would make from time to time, biting his tongue to keep from pointing out that he was a grown man who had been dressing and undressing without incident for several decades before she had ever met him. It was one of the ways she showed him that she cared, even if he found it frustratingly distracting at times.

“Parlour?” she asked. “Or the bedroom?”

He headed towards the stairs; even if they were alone in the house the parlour felt too public. The bedroom was theirs, though, and he needed that. Once he crossed the threshold he removed his jacket, vest, and tie, then shrugged the braces off his shoulders to remove the shirt as well. From behind he felt her hand, small and warm even through the fabric of his singlet, touch his shoulder blade.

“Bath?”

“No, thank you,” he said.

“Come to bed then,” she said, running her hand up, along his shoulder, then down his arm to catch his hand in hers. She tugged him lightly and he followed, kicking his shoes off in the process.

They lay side by side on the bed. She had exchanged her outer garments for a robe he had bought her for Christmas; he stared at the ceiling, one hand stroking the navy blue silk, and tried to find the answers.

“You’ve told me bits and pieces, Jack, but I think you should start from the beginning,” she finally said.

He took a deep breath, then another.

“Ivy was three when the war broke out. Dan and Molly were beginning to think that she’d be their only child, and it was a shame. I’ve never known a man so utterly besotted. Well, Dan signed up right away. We both did. He insisted on being ahead of me in the queue because he was older,” he chuckled. “He hated to be second at anything.”

Phryne squeezed his hand.

“Well, Molly was furious. As was Rosie. We came back to my house to find two Mrs. Robinsons ready to spit tacks. And Dan—Dan just made some joke I can’t even remember now and both of them softened in an instant. Then we were shipped off, and Molly took Ivy back to her family just outside of Griffith for the support. Mum would have done it, of course, but she and Molly used to butt heads something fierce.”

He paused; the pain was so sharp it felt like it was a week ago, not nearly a decade and a half. His grip had tightened on Phryne’s robe; he could feel it crushed in his fist. She was smoothing his hair absent-mindedly.

“Well, Dan never came back to Melbourne—he died at Ypres—and neither did Molly. She wrote, in the beginning, but the letters trailed off. I think it hurt too much to think about. We haven’t heard a thing about her or Ivy in… eight years? Nine? That’s when our letters started to be returned. Undeliverable. I found out today that’s when Molly remarried.”

“Oh, Jack,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, darling.”

He began to cry. “I should have done _something_. I should have looked her up, I should have kept sending letters even if they never arrived. But I just… I was so busy trying to keep my head above water, and then Rosie left and I just… I failed her, Phryne. She’s the only piece of Dan left and I failed her. What kind of uncle does that?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “The kind who has the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, probably. But you didn’t fail her, even if you weren’t there.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she placed a finger against his lips until he stopped, then brushed the tears from his cheeks.

“She wouldn’t have sought you out if she felt that way,” she said tenderly, pulling her hand away. “How _did_ that happen?”

“Ivy’s going to university here,” he said, and Phryne gave a small smile.

“I like her already,” she said.

“And she knew enough information to look me up, eventually. There’s more than a few John Robinsons, after all, but she had a vague memory that I might have been a police officer. Said she remembered being fascinated by the buttons on my uniform.”

“They do have a certain sort of....promise,” Phryne agreed. “Shame I didn’t know you then.”

Jack chuckled, rolling onto his side to look at her. Her eyes were closed, one hand still in his hair and the other placed across her stomach, and a content smile on her face.

“I’m afraid not even you would have been enough to turn my head, back then.”

“I have my ways,” she replied, then opened one eye to look at him. “But I know when you’re avoiding things. Please continue.”

He wasn’t ready to tell her, just yet, about Ivy’s unexpected arrival in his office.

“You’re home early?” he asked instead, reaching out to trace the back of her hand. It was, he thought, softer and smoother than the silk it rested upon.

“I am. If it hadn’t been for the man’s close friendship with Uncle Edward, I wouldn’t have gone in the first place.”

“Not getting itchy feet?”

“If I’m going anywhere this time of year it would be the seaside. Preferably with you and that swimsuit that does wonders for your shoulders,” she rolled over to look at him when she said it, hand trailing across the outline of his singlet at the memory. “Not Wangaratta to sort out a silly blackmail situation. The problem with there being a whole world out there is that some parts of it are incredibly dull.”

He laughed again at her wry smile, then slipped his hand to her hip and leant in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut, the dark curve of her eyelashes against her skin; his remained open, drinking in the sight that he was fairly certain he’d never tire of.

“Mmm,” she said eventually, eyes opening to pin him where he was. “This is lovely, darling, but you won’t get out of it that easily.”

“I clearly need to improve,” he smirked, but it had been enough. He sighed, rolling onto his back once more; her hand came to rest on his chest, drumming a quiet beat. “I never thought I’d be grateful for paperwork, but it meant that I was at the station today and that I could…” his breath caught again, and her drumming fingers began to stroke instead. “I could give my full attention to the situation.”

“I’ll be sure to remind you next time you start cursing it,” she said mildly, the head coming to rest against his shoulder belying her flippancy.

“This afternoon Collins came in, saying there was a young woman he didn’t know requesting Inspector Robinson. I didn’t think anything of it—given the sheer number of people you know and your aunt’s...fondness for me, I seem to have someone coming in at least once a week asking me to sort out some minor problem or another.”

“Really?” she asked, raising her head to look at him. “That sounds dreadfully inconvenient.”

“I don’t mind, most of the time,” he replied, and she put her head back down. “But I didn’t think anything of it, which is the point. I figured I could sort it out and top off my tea at the same time; I wasn’t even paying attention. And I came out and glanced up and… oh, Phryne, she’s…. Honestly, it was like looking at Dan. And I never realised how many little details I’d forgotten about him until I was looking at her.”

Her fingers stopped moving against his chest.

“I worry, sometimes, that the things I remember about Janey aren’t real,” she quietly confessed.

He clasped her hand in his and held it tight, unable to say anything else for a moment. She nestled closer to him in response and his arm wrapped around her. He hadn’t said anything that afternoon either, just paused with his teacup in hand and a gormless expression on his face. Ivy had eventually moved first, touching her lips in surprise; it was a habit Dan had shared with their mother, and it had been enough to break through Jack’s shock.

‘ _Come into my office,_ ’ he had said. ‘ _Is it still Miss Robinson?_ ’

She had looked at him carefully, then said ‘ _You may as well call me Ivy, Uncle Jack._ ’

“Jack?”

Phryne had extracted her hand from his and turned his face towards her, letting her palm rest on his cheek.

“Sorry, love,” he said, shaking off the memory and giving her a smile. “She came into my office and we talked for a good portion of the afternoon. She’s in Melbourne for school. She’s clever and tenacious and…” _I missed so much. Dan missed so much._

Phryne caressed his cheek, and her smile was tinged with sadness.

“You have time,” she said. “And when you’re both ready, we’ll invite her to Sunday dinner, yes?”

Sunday dinner was for family.

“Of course,” he said, already feeling the weight of guilt lessen. “But I should warn her about you first.”

“Afraid I might frighten her off?”

“Afraid you might give her ideas,” he laughed.

“I’ll have you know that most of my ideas are excellent. Coming home early, for example…”

“You do have your moments of brilliance,” he laughed again in agreement, pulling her close. “Thank you.”

She bit her lip, watching him hungrily, and he realised—not for the first or the last time—exactly how deeply he loved her. He kissed her, short and tender, pulling back after a moment to meet her gaze.

“What was that for?” she asked, eyes twinkling playfully; clearly she expected him to sing her praises.

“For being here. For listening. For loving me,” he said sincerely, then smiled. “And for having the heaviest foot in the state of Victoria. I missed you when you were gone.”

“I missed you too,” she said. “And while I am very glad that you were here today when you needed to be, next time I’m taking you with me. A woman needs some diversions when stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this explains the title. Hedera is the scientific name for Ivy. A silly little joke that allowed me to skip the awful 'find a title' phase.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting!

“You’re fidgeting, Jack,” Phryne said. “It’s just dinner, and Mr. Butler’s outdone himself.”

“Mr. Butler regularly outdoes himself. That’s not my concern,” he said dryly, but he stopped all the same.

Jack had met with Ivy several times in the past month, over lunch so they both had an excuse not to stay too long if it was awkward. According to Jack it had been, the first time; Ivy had asked questions he wasn’t expecting, about Rosie and children and coming back from the war. He’d barely made it through the meal, and when he had come home he’d locked himself in the study for several hours before emerging for dinner. He hadn’t wanted to speak about it until they were lying in the dark, then it had spilt forth in a jumbled mess.

“Why me and not him?” he had said when it was done, and Phryne couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“I don’t think anybody who made it knows the answer to that question,” she had replied, and held him a little bit tighter, thankful that he had.

The second meal was easier, and the third was actually enjoyable. He had come home after that one smiling, telling Phryne about Ivy’s interest in gardening. Vegetables, not flowers, but gardening nonetheless.

And now it was Sunday dinner and even Jack’s mother, fresh in from Adelaide the night before, was able to make it. Which explained why Jack was so nervous.

“Darling, why don’t you pick your mother up from your flat? Take the Hispano.”

He jumped, so lost in his thoughts he had forgotten she was there. His smile was rueful.

“Am I that irritating, Miss Fisher?”

“You’ll wear a hole in my mantel if you lean on it any harder,” she smiled back. “And how much does Ivy know...”

“About us?” he asked.

She nodded. In the year and a half since their kiss at the airfield Jack had become part of the household, though he kept a small flat for appearance’s sake, but it was not a conventional arrangement by any stretch of the imagination. His use of Miss Fisher—a name he used to be professional outside the house and intimate in the boudoir, but very rarely when they were simply at their leisure—suggested that he might prefer to obfuscate the situation. His mother had proven remarkably accepting of the arrangement, going so far as to laugh that it made it easier to stay at his place when she was in town if he found himself ‘using the guest bedroom’ at Phryne’s, and they were unlikely to be so lucky twice.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked onto his heels.

“I called you a very dear friend,” he said, shaking his head. “But I won’t hide us, Phryne. And if she cannot accept that…”

It would break his heart, but he would choose Phryne. It unsettled her, at times, to realise just how certain she was of _them_. But there were many more times when it lifted her up or soothed her, and it was worth every flutter of fear.

“She’s a Robinson,” Phryne said, moving close to wrap her arms around his shoulders and smile flirtatiously. “And so far they have proven themselves to be remarkably tolerant of people. So go pick up your mother and I’ll entertain Ivy if she arrives before you are back.”

His hand slid to the small of her back as he smiled in reply.

“Or we could always leave my mother to her own devices and find other ways to pass the time…” he murmured.

When he spoke to her like that, so wonderfully _open_ in his longing and desire, she had a hard time doing anything other than dragging him to the nearest available surface; she pulled his head down to kiss him properly.  He was a very good kisser, the perfect contradiction of soft and firm, tender yet brash, hot on a cold day and refreshingly cool when it was warm. There were as many facets to Jack Robinson’s kisses as there were to the man himself. And there was his tongue, slipped so neatly….

She pulled back suddenly.

“Go pick up your mother,” she scolded, laughing. “And wipe your mouth before you go—that’s a fetching shade of lipstick, but it might be a little much even for her accepting soul.”

“I rather thought it suited me,” he replied cheekily.

“Go!”

She stepped away and fluttered her hands at him, as if shooing off a particularly persistent bird, and he finally made his way out the door. Stealing several more kisses as he did so, but Phryne was hardly complaining. Once he was safely off she retreated to the boudoir to refresh her lipstick and brush her bob back into some semblance of order, catching her happy grin in the mirror. She hoped the dinner would go smoothly, for Jack’s sake.

She heard a knock from downstairs, and she took one last glance in the mirror, decided she looked both beautiful and approachable, and headed towards the stairs. She rounded the corner just as Mr. Butler was answering the door, revealing Ivy on the other side.

“Miss Robinson!” she called out warmly. “I’m very glad you found us without trouble?”

Ivy stepped inside, handing Mr. Butler her hat and light jacket. Beneath it was a robin’s egg blue suit and cream blouse; classically on-trend without being flashy. Her dark hair was swept into a chignon. She had Jack’s nose and his height, and there was something familiar in the way she held herself that reminded Phryne of him as well.

“You must be Miss Fisher,” she replied. Her voice was quiet and careful, but warm. “Yes, it was rather hard to miss.”

“Call me Phryne,” she said, laughing as she alighted the final step.

“Likewise, Ivy.”

Phryne smiled widely at her and tilted her head towards the parlour; Ivy followed her in, and Mr. Butler retreated to fetch refreshments.

“I’m afraid Jack’s not here just yet. He’s gone to pick up your grandmother; we thought it might be easier for you all to talk before the rest of the guests arrive.”

“That’s very kind of you. I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Utter tosh! You’ll learn soon enough that I don’t make offers I don’t mean, Ivy. If Mairi wasn’t off travelling so often—really, considering how grounded Jack is, he does seem to surround himself with wanderers—I’m sure she would have arranged something more comfortable than my parlour an hour before having to sit through a dinner with a horde of people. Thank you, Mr. Butler; just there will be fine.”

He placed the tray with tea and biscuits on the side and was gone again, and Ivy stared at the doorway suspiciously.

“If you need anything at all while you’re here, Mr. Butler will see to it.”

“That’s very kind, but—”

“It’s not an imposition, Ivy, it’s his job. Which he is well-compensated for, and very much appreciated. The man is a marvel.”

“You’re very accommodating,” Ivy said, and Phryne could hear the unasked questions that followed.

“If you have questions, you’d do best to come out with them,” Phryne said, crossing her legs and reclining against the back of the chaise. “I don’t have a great deal of patience for talking around a point.”

Ivy gave a very small smile at that. “I rather had that impression from what Uncle Jack said.”

Well, she was calling him Uncle Jack. That boded well. Phryne laughed, reaching out to take one of the teacups from the tray.

“I shudder to think what your uncle said about me. Reckless, stubborn nuisance?”

Ivy blushed.

“Oh no, Phryne. He’s very kind. But…”

Ivy’s face flashed through several emotions very quickly—embarrassment, worry, irritation—and Phryne realised what was bothering her.

“You’re wondering if I know he’s in love with me?” she asked.

Ivy blushed even deeper; like her uncle, it was mostly a colouring around her ears.

“It’s just that he spoke of you so warmly and I know he was married before and—”

“And he called me a very dear friend?”

The girl nodded quickly.

“You are a sweet girl to worry for him,” Phryne said, shifting to meet the girl’s eyes. They were a dark brown, and not at all similar to Jack’s except for the kindness behind them. “Jack deserves all the defenders in the world, and I count myself among them.”

It didn’t seem to satisfy Ivy’s curiosity; her head cocked as she mulled over the thought. Phryne motioned around the parlour.

“Look around. That’s Jack’s book on the window seat, and I certainly don’t need the reading glasses resting on top of it. His favourite foods are in the pantry, his sheet music rests on the piano because he plays it much more often than I do, and that’s his briefcase in the hall. You needn’t defend him from me, sweetheart.”

“So you are…?”

“In a romantic relationship, yes. Though it’s almost incidental to the matter at hand. I would never hurt him.”

“I’m sorry. I should never have asked.”

“It’s only natural that you would,” Phryne said, leaning forward to retrieve a biscuit from the tray. “You’ve found a family member you thought lost, and now you want to keep him. Jack does have a remarkable ability to inspire loyalty.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted quietly. “But I was far from home and curious, and I thought that if I found this side of the family and they turned out to be awful, I could say hang the lot and move on. But Uncle Jack was...very kind.”

“He is very pleased you did,” Phryne said. “He doesn’t talk about your father often, but he has a photograph with the both of you that is one of his most treasured possessions.”

The girl ducked her head. Phryne was uncertain whether Ivy was shy or simply overcome by emotions, but she extracted a handkerchief to keep close by just in case.

“What about my grandmother?” Ivy asked.

Phryne laughed, remembering her own surprise when she’d met Jack’s mother for the first time.

“Mairi Robinson is perhaps the only person in Australia that is more unflappable than your uncle. About ten years ago she got it into her head that she had moved all the way to Australia from Scotland and hadn’t seen much more than Melbourne; she promptly sold the house and now spends a good portion of her time moving around the country.”

The girl looked up sharply.

“You cannot be serious!”

“Utterly,” Phryne replied.

Ivy began to laugh, a full, throaty sound that seemed at odds with her quiet demeanour. “Rather puts my Griffith to Melbourne journey to shame.”

“There’s no need to compare,” Phryne said. “It takes a great deal of courage to take that step. Jack said that you’ve come for university?”

From the sudden animation in the girl, it was a topic she was deeply passionate about. They talked for some time about her education and how she had fought tooth and nail to keep at it when her stepfather—who she otherwise got along with perfectly well, she assured Phryne—had wanted her to drop out and get a job; from the set of her sharp jaw, Phryne had a very good idea of the sort of impression Ivy had made, even at fifteen. She had finished school and then worked for two years, in the end, in order to pay for university, but she’d done all she could to learn in her free hours. She was exceptionally fond of Jane Austen and of mystery novels where there was a chance of identifying the culprit before the denouement. She was studying to become a teacher. It was not her dearest interest—she had it in her mind that there was some market for “silly novels that speak to women, real women, and encourage them to embrace the opportunities before them” with all the optimism of youth—but it was a profession where there was always jobs available if you were willing to work hard enough, and financial security to be had as a result. It was a practical choice; Phryne was left with the impression that she was a remarkably practical girl, once you got over her initial shyness. Phryne liked her, and not just because she was related to Jack.

Thinking of Jack, she glanced at the clock; he should be home soon, as there was only an hour or so before the rest of the guests began to arrive.

“Is something wrong?” Ivy asked.

“No, no,” Phryne replied. “Just wondering where your uncle’s gone off to. The man probably could have walked over faster than he drives.”

“I’m terrified to drive in the city,” Ivy admitted with a rueful smile.

“But you do drive?”

The young woman nodded, and Phryne grinned.

“My Hispano is an absolute pleasure to handle, regardless of location. I suppose I’ll have to give you lessons. Just so long as you don’t tell Jack.”

A second later Phryne realised that Ivy’s attention was on something over her shoulder, not on Phryne herself.

“Just so long as she doesn’t tell Jack what?” came a dry voice from that general direction.

“Oh, hello darling,” Phryne said, turning to see him leaning against the door jamb with an amused look on his face. “I was just admiring your strict adherence to speed limits.”

“Liar.”

He pushed off the doorway and came into the room, dropping a kiss on her head before he rounded the chaise to take a seat beside her.

“How’s your mum?” Phryne asked, and Jack grimaced.

“She’s been in town twelve hours and has already baked three batches of shortbread. She insisted we come through the kitchen so she could give some to Mr. Butler.”

“That’s good, surely?” laughed Phryne. Mairi Robison’s shortbread was the stuff of legends.

“She’s also giving him the recipe.”

“And…?”

“And I’ve been after her for that recipe for twenty years and she refuses. Says I can have it when she’s dead, assuming she remembers to write it down.”

Ivy and Phryne both laughed at his woeful expression.

“Well, darling, we’ll just have to keep in Mr. Butler’s good graces until then,” Phryne teased, rising from the seat. “I’ll just go check on the state of those biscuits, send Mairi in, and leave you three to get reacquainted, shall I? Dinner’s at one, don’t forget.”

Mairi was standing in the hall when Phryne exited the parlour, a queer expression on her face. It was nervousness of the face of a woman who had forgotten what nerves were, Phryne realised. Mairi looked up and gave Phryne a wan smile.

“Hullo dearie,” she said. “How is the lass?”

“She’s lovely, Mairi,” Phryne said, drawing the older woman into a hug. “You’ll adore her, and she’ll adore you. Go on through, I’ll see you in a bit. I hear some shortbread calling my name….”

———

 Jack sighed and began to smooth his eyebrows, then realised how ridiculous it would look and placed his hands on his lap instead. Ivy was watching him.

“Phryne seems…”

There was a softness around Ivy’s eyes that told him what she meant.

“She is,” Jack said, smiling. “Very much.”

“I’m glad.”

“How are your classes so far?” Jack asked; he hadn’t seen her since school had started up a week earlier.

“They are going very well, thank you.”

“Ach! There she is!” boomed a jovial voice from the doorway. “Let’s hae a look atcha then, lassie.”

Jack turned to his mum coming through the doorway; she was a tiny, fierce creature with a voice like a foghorn. She did seem to be laying the accent on a little thick though; she’d been in Australia for nearly fifty years and her accent had dulled considerably under most circumstances.

Ivy stood as if for dutiful inspection; it seemed she passed, as Mairi hugged her tightly.

“The very spit,” she said, suddenly subdued. “The very spit of your father.”

“So Uncle Jack has said. I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t tell me Molly’s kept pictures from you, my dear,” Mairi said irritably; she had never gotten along particularly well with either one of her daughters-in-law.

“I believe the box was destroyed in a flood when I was eleven,” Ivy said. “Mother cried for a week straight.”

“Ahh.”

“I have a photograph, Ivy,” Jack interjected. “You should have mentioned it and I would have shown you before. Mum, sit down.”

Mairi took a seat on the chaise and Ivy returned to her arm chair. Mr. Butler came in at that moment with a fresh tray of tea things, and Jack used it as an opportunity to slip away and retrieve the photograph. When he came back to the parlour he found the two women in a deep discussion of Mairi’s journeys around Australia and he smiled; it was an auspicious beginning.  

———   

“Well, I’d say that was a roaring success,” Phryne said that evening, passing Jack a tumbler of whiskey. “I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard at a dinner in years.”

There had been a few tense moments—Ivy was rather accusatory about Mairi never taking the time to visit during her travels and Mairi had been rather scathing towards Molly’s lack of communication in return, and Dot had ended up playing mediator—but overall it had been an excellent meal.

“Ivy certainly held her own,” Jack agreed. “She’s always been more…”

“Reserved?”

“Yes. More reserved at our lunches, but I think the company made a difference.”

Phryne smirked, taking a seat on the chaise and placing her feet on his lap. His thumb began to brush absent-mindedly against her ankle and she hummed at the sensation.

“I don’t think poor Hugh knew what to do with that many women at the table.”

“Especially that many…”

“Forthright?” she supplied with a smirk.

“Stubborn, loud, maddening, opinionated—”

She placed her glass on the tray and was in his lap in an instant, kissing him thoroughly.

“You’re baiting me,” she accused when she pulled away, breathing ragged.

“A little,” he chuckled. “They were also intelligent, witty, and charming dining companions. Even if parts of it were truly disastrous. When Mac—”

“And the soup!” Phryne giggled at the memory.

“Then…”

“I know! I thought for sure Ivy would be horrified, but she just rolled with it!”

They laughed uproariously at the memory, neither one able to speak for several minutes.

“So there you and Hugh were, two against…” she counted quickly. Herself, Ivy and Mairi, obviously, then Dot and Jane and Mac had joined them for the meal. “Six. Two against _six_! You never stood a chance!”

“Not one.”

“I’ll say one thing, Jack Robinson,” she chuckled. “You certainly attract a certain type of woman.”

“Yes,” he replied dryly. “Trouble.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

He kissed her again, a tender caress that he punctuated by nipping at her lip. Smirking at her indignant squeak in response, he pulled her closer. “No, no I wouldn’t.”


End file.
